Reservations for Two
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Matt didn't have a lot of money. He didn't live in a nice house, and he didn't drive a fancy car. But, he did have Mello, a pack of poptarts, and a carton of orange juice. ONESHOT


**Title: **Reservations for Two

**Summary: **Matt didn't have a lot of money. He didn't live in a nice house, and he didn't drive a fancy car. But, he did have Mello, a pack of poptarts, and a carton of orange juice. - OneShot - Dedicated to CatatonicVanity.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything that may be referenced. Clever word-play is mine, and so is the plot, or lack thereof.

**Author's Note:** This is a OneShot written for MY Sauce, also known as CatatonicVanity. She's a good friend, and I hope she likes this.

…

* * *

The house was a wreck, and the redhead had only lived there for a month, but even before he became a proud homeowner, the place was nearly ready to be condemned.

The foundation of the 1890's two-story home was old and rickety; the upstairs was never to be ventured, for it might cave in and become one with first floor. Speaking of floors, there was no carpeting. Just simple woodwork that once might have shined and gleamed but now was rotting in some places and serving as an edible home to termites.

There were only a few windows in the entire building, and each one was small and dingy, stained with dirt and grime that had built up over the years.

The light fixtures were old and reminiscent of arch lamps. Electricity only flowed through one chamber in the house, and that was the garage. For whatever reason, the rest of the wiring was either nonexistent, or very much faulty.

The redhead didn't have lush or lavish furniture like this house might have seen in its prime, but then again, he didn't need such luxuries. He was fine to sit on a tattered sofa and to sleep on an inflatable air mattress.

He ventured to the garage and looked at his jalopy, an ugly junker that was practically thrown at him; the previous owner was unable to sell it and was unhappy at the low monetary compensation he'd get for scrapping it. Matt took it, intending to fix it up and give it a chance to grace the streets, and though he was an excellent self-taught mechanic, he was not a miracle worker. The car leaked multiple fluids, the windshield wipers didn't work. The turn signals didn't operate at all. Only one of the headlights functioned normally; the other one seemed possessed, flicking on and off whenever it wanted. And under the hood, everything from the radiator to the motor was shot to hell and back. The engine squealed like a cut pig when it didn't want to start up right away. But… for what it's worth, the interior was plush and leathery, and with the purple fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, Matt was more than happy to just go to the garage, sit in the car, and play a handheld. It made him feel at peace.

And that's what he was doing. He sat in his car, in the garage, reclined his seat, propped his feet on the dashboard, got nice and comfy, lit up a smoke, and turned on his PSP.

Yeah, life was good, even with a crummy house and a car that was ready to fall apart at any given moment.

_The yellow LocoRoco bounced around the screen, collecting Head, Pictories, and Insects and saving the MuiMui. Soon, a BuBu Mushroom would be acquired and it could be used to build a canon, which would then be used to fend off the BuiBui attacks! Because no MuiMui house would be complete without a cannon and some awesome stuff for the little guys to play on. Especially the rocking horse, and the shower, and the broom, and, well, everything. It was always so fun to spoil the MuiMui and watch them play after LocoRoco had a few levels cleared. And just as the MuiMui's song changed its tune, the once-vibrant screen went black._

Matt's PSP had suddenly killed over. The screen was black and it was painfully obvious that he'd forgotten to charge the handheld. He sat the dead handheld in an empty cup holder before getting out of the car, stretching languidly, and turning his attention to a battery powered clock that sat on top of his toolbox.

Oh, how the redhead hated that clock. In place of numbers were an array of birds, and with each passing hour, the corresponding birdcall pulsed. He'd have broken or '_lost'_ it ages ago, but he couldn't… because it was a gift, and the crazy lady who gave it to him made him promise to keep it. Then again, the old lady happened to be his boss, and the clock was also a subtle reminder for him not to show up late unless he wanted to be fired from Dairy Queen.

Now, back to the clock. The clock's hands ticked into position, and a Kookaburra's voice ran out obnoxiously, alerting him that the time was 5 o'clock.

"Shit," he cursed. "What day is it? Wednesday? Thursday?" He visibly flinched as he caught a glimpse at a dog-themed calendar and realized that he had his days all wrong. Today was, in fact, Saturday, meaning that Mello was due to show up for a dinner date… at 5:30. (Mello and him had been _going steady_ for about a month, and each time they met up, it was either a Mello's fancy estate or a drive-in movie, or some form of eatery. And, today was a big day. Today was going to be Mello's first time in the shitty place.)

This translated to Matt panicking on how to clean up a bit. Because Mello wasn't a typical run-of-the-mill boyfriend. Mello was wealthy and high maintenance, like a princess; he detested mess slightly less than incompetence.

How the redhead captured the heart of the blonde, even he didn't know. But, what he did know is, the place was a sty, and he had to hurry, clean, and get changed into something that was more… Mello-friendly. (He was currently wearing a stained up Tetris t-shirt –complete with a '_Block It In, Yo'_ scribbled in a faded font -and a pair of Luigi boxers. [His Mario ones were forgotten at Mello's after a raunchy night of hip-hammering, nipple-pinching, and cock-sucking.] Yeah, all that good stuff that makes fangirls wet and fanboys hard.)

Matt looked at the chaotic disarray that was his living space, trying to decide where to start cleaning. Not that it would matter. It'd take a miracle to make this place presentable in a half hour.

And with the little time he had to work with, he decided to just work with the garage for now; he'd have the rest of the house tidied up next time Mello visited (_or not_).

Matt looked at the ruined floorboards, covered in dust, splinters, and takeout containers, documenting his lack of cooking and cleaning. Oh, fuck! Speaking of cooking, the redhead didn't cook. He hadn't set foot inside the kitchen during the whole month he'd been living here. What if Mello expected a four-course dinner or something? This. Was going. To be. A disaster.

Still he took a deep breath, grabbed up all the takeout containers and tossed them onto his inflatable air mattress. (Because, yes, the mattress was in the garage, and he did sleep there. Mainly because it was the only place to play his games, and gaming was his late night hobby. Okay, fine; it was his anytime hobby –but that's hardly the point!)

He tossed all the empty containers onto his bedding area and proceeded to toss his blankets over the mess of recyclables. Once he reduced the number of lumps as much as possible, he deemed that part of his cleaning complete. Then he moved to sweeping. Of course, having no carpet meant needing no vacuum, and he didn't own a broom of any kind. (If it helps, the MuiMui from LocoRoco had a broom! It was always such a joy to watch the little guys hold a broom and sweep very animatedly, a theme of the player's choosing being chittered in the background.)

But, this was not a game. This was irl, and time was being less than manageable!

He pulled off his shoes so that he was only wearing his striped cotton-based socks. Then, like any person with a dusty floor and a lack of broom, he began to slide on his socks from one end of the garage to the other, utilizing the soft fabric like a Swiffer pad. Granted, he didn't get all of it, and his feet were full of splinters and ouchies when he was done, it was good enough for his own standards.

He sneezed when a stray dust particle found his nose and decided to irritate his allergies. Then, his socks were removed and tossed in a random direction; he took a seat long enough to de-splinter himself. And then he was on the move, glancing at the clock to see the time being 5:19.

"Oh, shit," he cursed, looking around. His eyes caught the only window in the garage, and he winced. "Mello always talks about the view on his terrace. He's lives in a two-story English cottage for Christ's sake!" By this point, Matt was ready to weep, but he didn't! He pulled himself together and scurried about, looking for a curtain or blinds to cover the window. When he found none, he ripped the red sham from his pillow and tacked it over the window's frame. Then he stood back and looked around.

The place was still a wreck.

The time was 5:23.

Mello would be there in 7 minutes, because he was bitchingly punctual like that. He took another quick glance around to see what more could be done. He scooped up his SailorMoon fortnightlies and popped the trunk of the car, dumping the pornographic magazines in before shutting it. The movement of the trunk stirred the air and dust was once more abundant. He fanned the debris with his hands in a feminine manner before taking a deep breath and realizing that the entirety of the damn garage smelled like an odd mixture of diesel, turpentine, and his own personal man-stank.

The hands on the clock proudly displayed 5:25.

Matt practically dove into the car, tore open the glove compartment and retrieved multiple cherry-scented air fresheners, all shaped like pine trees. He slipped out of the car and placed them in various locations. Then he grabbed a bottle of Febreze from a wobbly old shelf; he sprayed nearly the entire bottle throughout the confined space, covering his nose and mouth so he wouldn't directly inhale the mist.

5:27? Fuck it! The place was clean enough. The redhead had to change his clothes!

The old Tetris shirt was slipped off and tossed in a random corner, and he located a hamper in the back. Flipping open the cedar lid, he fished a hand in and pulled out a shirt before bringing it to his nose and heavily breathing in the scent.

Fuck, it reeked of his own body odor from his last gaming marathon. (It wasn't his fault he was out of deodorant and too poor to pick up more! Nor was it his fault that _tomorrow_ was laundry day!)

Sadly, that shirt was deemed one of the cleaner ones he owned at the moment, and so he pulled it over his head and went to prepare '_dinner_.'

He didn't even chance wasting a few precious seconds to look at the clock. He was smart enough to guess that he was royally fucked in terms of making a good first impression.

Still, he wasn't about to give up! He'd come too far to quit now! This last half hour had been madness! And, if he had anything to say about it, at 5:30 Mello would be greeted at the door and be shown the time of his life!

Matt raided the mini-fridge he kept plugged in next to his bedding area. Food was nearly nonexistent, but he was able to scrounge up a pack of poptarts and a carton of orange juice. He'd just kicked an old crate into the center of the garage and used it as a table on which to place his _poor man's meal_, when suddenly, there was a knock at the door. One knock became many. The knocks fell quick and loud, like the person causing it was excited -or just temperamental.

The wretched bird clock proudly placed its hands on the allotted marks, revealing the time to be 5:30.

The redhead quickly raced to greet his date, throwing the door open and plastering on his biggest, cheesiest grin, but… that gleeful expression did not last for more than a moment.

A blonde faltered back a few steps, holding his nose where the door, which had been opened a little too enthusiastically, had thwacked him in the face. "Matt, you fuckin' retard…" Mello hissed under his breath and nursed the offended area. When the pain subsided noticeably, he composed himself and smirked at the guilty look on his boyfriend's face. "Cheer up, cocksucker. I'm here, aren't I?"

In an instant, Matt's smile was back, ten-fold. He gestured for the blonde to enter and said, "After you, Mells."

Mello stepped into the garage, crossed his arms, and quirked a brow. At first, he thought he was being '_punked'_ or something. He was so sure Ashton Kutcher was going to jump out and have a hidden camera crew with him, all laughing and declaring that he'd been set up, but… that didn't happen. Seconds ticked by, and yes, they literally _ticked_, for Mello's eyes found the battery powered clock, and he fleetingly focused on that. Then his eyes roamed, and he caught sight of a poorly thrown together bedding, complete with jagged lumps under the covers. Then there was the pint-sized fridge. And the car. The hamper, which was left open. And that God awful stench. And, just, mess. Everywhere. Here a mess; there a mess –everywhere a mess, mess!

The blonde crinkled his nose but appeared otherwise unconcerned. "This is your place? It's rather…-" _Dull. Dank. Cold. Smelly as hell. Filthy. Nasty. Downright disgusting. Unfit for a decomposing hobo to live in. Pathetic. _There were many ways to word what he wanted to say, but not a one of them were pleasant.

"_Charming_, isn't it?" Matt supplied this repose before shutting the door, grabbing Mello's hand and leading him over to the crate. "Sit, Mells, and I'll serve ya. Alright?" He grabbed a 5 gallon bucket, turned it over, and gestured for the blonde to take a seat.

Mello hesitantly obliged, lowering himself onto the dusty bucket and doing a bit of recon on his surroundings while Matt bustled about, rushing in circles to make this date as perfect as possible.

Soon, the lights dimmed, soft music came crackling through ancient speakers; the a kerosene lamp was lit and set near the crate to create mood-lighting, and Matt pulled up a bucket of his own before looking into a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes. "Well, Mells, what's the verdict?" He asked, more than a little nervous but putting forth an overly relaxed façade.

Mello closed his eyes and assessed the state of affairs with careful consideration. The place was bad on the outside, but it was even worse on the inside. The odor was enough to make bile scale his esophagus. Mess, dirt, rubble, and ruins were everywhere, as far as the eyes could see, and he was almost positive he saw a dead rat near a small mountain of videogames. Mello's supposed 'dinner date' was going to consist of a single pack of poptarts, the flavor of which was deemed a mystery due to the plain foil wrapper. Oh, and a carton of orange juice. (Mello hated both of those. Poptarts were fattening and he abhorred the texture when it entered his mouth and slid down his throat. And, don't even get him started on how much he hated orange juice –as well as any other kind of fruit-based beverage.) Still, Mello assessed, and though the cons far out-weighed the pros, he opened his eyes, looked into a set of unshielded emeralds, and he smiled. "Matt, it's great. Really great."

Matt could feel his heart beating against his ribs, and he had to use all of his willpower to refrain from jumping up and doing a victory dance. "In that case, Mells, prepare for the most memorable dinner date of your life!" He jerked up and over to the other side of the garage; his back was facing the blonde, so it was hard to say what he was doing. He returned with a bottle of vodka and two mason jars. The jars were set onto the table; the vodka was opened and generously poured, followed by the orange juice. Then, the foil wrapper was ripped and torn, spilling out two frosted pastries. After this, the redhead reclaimed his seat on his respective bucket, grabbed one of the jars and lifted it ceremoniously. "Now, Mells, I'd like to make a toast." He paused, waiting for Mello to mimic the raise of the glass. "I met you ten years ago. You kicked my teeth in because I ignored you. You bloodied my mouth and fucked up my smile. I had to get braces. Then I returned the favor by bashing your face in with my Gameboy. You looked ridiculous until your broken nose healed. And, yet, I feel like I can do anything when you're around. I feel like…-"

Mello listened to the sappy ill-prepared speech and interrupted. "First of all, your smile's still fucked up. That's one of the things I like about you, cum-sipper. Second, you talk too much." With that, he dropped his mason jar to the floor, unperturbed by the shattering glass and spilled mixed drink (the place was such a dump anyways) as he leaned over the crate and claimed the lips of the redhead.

Matt's own drink slipped from his hand as he returned the kiss with a passion he didn't think existed. He threaded his fingers in blonde tresses and gradually clamored forth, attempting to lessen the gap between them; he accidentally kicked his bucket over in the process.

Thankfully, Mello seemed to catch the hint and was already mounting the crate, pulling Matt atop with him so that they could paw at each other and continue their heated make-out session.

Tongues rolled and licked and poked and prodded; teeth nipped and tugged at any and all things available; and lips became soft pliable welcome mats for one another's hunger.

Just then, the crate quivered with the weight of the two boys before simply collapsing.

Matt cursed under his breath as he fell with Mello landing on top of him. His head spun and his vision blurred, but the moment he caught sight of that golden halo above him, the rest of the world seemed to melt away. He propped himself up on his elbows and leaned in for another, softer kiss, only to be denied by his boyfriend.

"Matt, no. Not right now," came Mello's words, effectively confusing the man beneath him. Thankfully, he elaborated. "Matt, I love you; I really do, but… why didn't you tell me that you …-" _Were so damn poor. Needed help. Was financially unstable. Lived in a shithole? _So many things he could have said.

And, just like before, Matt supplied something he personally deemed acceptable. "You mean to ask why I didn't tell you that I forgot to do my laundry."

Hearing this, Mello sat back and accessed his boyfriend's attire for the first time since he'd arrived. Sure enough, the redhead was wearing an old Michigan State football jersey and his Luigi boxers. Yes, this was the outfit he wore on a _date_, apparently.

"Sorry, Mells," Matt said, avoiding eye contact and trying to force away the telltale reddening of his cheeks. "I forgot about our date. Everything was done at the last minute. By the time I got this much done, you were here, and I didn't even remember to put on pants."

And Mello laughed. Hard. So hard that he fell off Matt and landed beside him on the floor, clutching his side to keep his guts from bursting. "Y-You're such a dumbass, Matt!" he shrieked, kicking his feet in a vain attempt to get his jollies untwisted.

Matt's chest suddenly clenched, feeling as if a lead weight had fallen through him like an anvil. "Mells, I-I'm sorry." His face screwed up into a manifestation of sadness.

Hearing the tone of despair, Mello sobered in an instant. He sat up, grabbing and pulling Matt to sit with him. He forced eye contact before saying what might possibly be the most beautiful thing the redhead had ever heard. "Matt, don't worry about it. Come back to my place and your Luigi boxers can join your Mario boxers. And, afterwards, we'll share your poptarts."

**END**

…

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**/Well, there it is. Not the greatest, but I certainly enjoyed it. Was it a bit too cheesy? - Remember, this is dedicated to MY Sauce, CatatonicVanity. That said, please review!/**


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